


A Conversation with King Laius

by orphan_account



Category: Marvel (Comics), Marvel Cinematic Universe, Norse Religion & Lore, Thor (Movies)
Genre: Genderbending, Metafiction, Other, Period-Typical Homophobia, Pseudo-Incest, Ragnarok
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2017-10-17
Updated: 2017-10-17
Packaged: 2019-01-18 11:58:38
Rating: Mature
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,984
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/12387627
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/orphan_account/pseuds/orphan_account
Summary: What did a mortal know about fate? Odin was a god, no mere ghostly shade of a long-dead Midgardian king. He could prevent Ragnarok by taking Loki as his paramour, by making him fall in love with him. He could prevent Ragnarok by proclaiming Loki as his blood-brother, his fire-forged comrade. He could prevent Ragnarok by stealing Loki as a child and raising him to be good and kind. King Laius would see. It would be different this time.





	A Conversation with King Laius

Time was a strange, twisting thing that did not make sense. Óðinn knew that only fractions of a second had passed since the universe sprang into being, and yet he also knew he had lived for centuries in his father's hall, playing at hero as he chased his brothers through bright, spring-filled woods. Óðinn moved his foot, for he had one of those now, and his brothers Vili and Vé followed him. They walked, though there was no ground to tread on, and in the distance they saw the universe pull itself together, forming and unforming, until they saw the great figure of a sleeping giant, lying curled next to a milk cow. Somewhere in the impenetrable darkness there dwelt this giant's children, the jötnar. They did not have proper names, but were called Chaos and Entropy and Random. Wild things. 

Order must be brought to the universe. Óðinn will create a new people and he will name them Law and Knowledge and Society. But for that to happen, what is wild must be tamed. 

With a single blow to the neck, Óðinn felled the sleeping giant and out gushed a deluge of blood. The jötnar screamed as they drowned, and stars rushed to fill the darkness. Gases collided and new shapes were formed. The blood rolled together, forming itself into a sphere, and out of the giant's bones grew mountains and meadows that blossomed with grass. 

The brothers looked around at what they had created and smiled. They would build cities and roads, fall in love and make children. Óðinn breathed in the air, now that there was air to breathe, filling his soul with the sweet smell of dew-covered flowers. He almost missed the glint of gold hidden within the tall blades of green. Curious, he bent down and plucked from the newly-made dirt a golden chess piece. It was a pawn, a little dirty and rubbed worn with use. 

"Óðinn, look," said Vé. "A few of the jötnar survived." 

Óðinn stuck the chess piece into the pouch that hung from his belt. He looked to where his brother was pointing and saw two jötnar clinging to a piece of driftwood as they floated down the river of blood, running cool and clear with water. 

Years later, Óðinn returned to the meadow and saw it marked with stones. A shrine. In the distance, humans had built small huts along the river, where they fished and fought and made love. He hid his garments in some bushes, donned a loincloth made of sun-tanned leather, and went out among the people. He delighted in their words, in their stories, in their reverence. He danced with them and ate with them. He taught them new things, and drew symbols in the ground. One day, his little village would become a mighty civilization. 

But as the sun slipped below the horizon, a dark and terrible wind blew over them, bringing with it the howls of wolves. The people shuddered at the wild things that lurked in the dark and scurried to hide in their huts. Óðinn frowned as he was left standing by the fire, alone. He stared at the encroaching darkness, at the untamed nature that threatened to destroy his creations. 

Out of the woods came not a wolf, but a jötun. He was a beautiful, wild thing. Slender and naked, with tangled black hair that fell over his pale shoulders and green eyes that sparkled with laughter. His body twisted and shook, the dying light catching the sharp angles turning into rounded curves. Óðinn could see full breasts peeking underneath the curtain of hair. The jötun gave out a sharp laugh, and then a howl, before turning around and running back into the forest. 

Óðinn gave chase and caught her around the waist, turning her so that she lay cushioned on a bed of moss. The jötun moaned and rubbed against him, wrapping her legs around his waist as he reached between them to draw himself out. He surged forward, pushing into her and as she writhed the entire world shuddered with her. For a moment he had forgotten what she was. A jötun was no true civilized thing, but a force of nature in and of itself. This creature he held in his arms was the earth given sentient form. Their rutting caused earthquakes. 

Óðinn pulled himself up, looking at the space between them where she lay speared on his cock. He would tame her, like the humans tamed the earth. He would furrow into her, bury his seed, and from her life would grow. He would spirit her away to Asgard where he would teach her words and rules. He would name her Jörð. They would have a son called Agriculture, their daughter Matrimony. But when he spilled himself, she giggled and kissed his nose, slipping herself free from him like a snake, her body shedding its skin until it was a man who lay stretched out beside him. 

No. This went against the Order of things. There were Laws. There was Man, and there was Woman. There was Sky, and there was Earth. A man could not sow wheat in the clouds, he could not water his crops with dirt. Óðinn could not take this jötun for a bride. But... Óðinn could not bear to part with this creature. He leaned down to steal a kiss, delighting the little jötun who laughed against his lips. Perhaps... perhaps it would be alright. A little wildness, a little chaos could be a good thing. It would not be the end of the world, no matter what that seeress had said. Nature would not triumph over Order. 

But the world did end. Surtr broke free of his fiery realm and he brought with him the heat death of the universe. No matter what he built, Nature would destroy it. 

* * *

Óðinn slipped quietly through the shadow realm, feeling lost and alone. He was not where he was supposed to be. In the corners of his eyes he saw the half-formed shadows of men. They ignored him, continuing their drift across the asphodel-covered meadow like the brine on the ocean. 

"You came back." 

Óðinn turned and saw the ghostly outline of a man. He wore a white shift like Southern men, and on his head there was a crown of laurels. "Who are you?" 

"Do you not remember? I am King Laius. This is the Elysian Fields, where the happy forgotten dead dwell." 

"I should be in Valhalla. I died fighting--" 

"The wolf Fenrir, yes, I know. There are no Valkyrie to spirit you away. Valhalla is empty. Your warriors have left its halls to fight in the Ragnarök." 

Óðinn looked curiously at the man. "How do you know this? Our ways are not your ways. I am not your god." 

King Laius gave him a small smile. "This is not the first time you ended up here. Tell me: how fares Loki?" 

Óðinn bristled at the name. "What do you know of that snake?" 

"Only what you told me. You swore you would do it all differently next time. How did it go? Did you outwit the Fates? Or did you put your cock in him again? I think you should have a conversation with one of my gods. Not Zeus, that would just make things worse. Athena could teach you how to control yourself. Not that it matters anyway. You can't win against Fate. She's rigged the game." 

"You impudent mortal. If you were not already dead, I would strike you down. Things _will _be different next time, you will see. It will not be I that you will see here next, I promise you that."__

* * *

Woden cursed as he searched Hoddmímis Holt for Asgard's missing goddess. Already he was beginning to feel the slow creep of age crawling across his skin. Without Iduna and her golden apples, the gods would wither away and die. That thrice-damned trickster. He was to blame. Someone saw him luring her out into these woods with promises of a new species of apple that he had discovered. Once Woden found her, he would cut down every tree here. Build a city out of it. Put a little order into the chaos and tether the jötun down, tame him. 

He had learned his lesson. When the seeress came to him and whispered her words of warning, he took heed. No matter the form Loki took, he would not fall to his lusty charms. But Woden found he could not abandon him completely. He yearned for his company, to hear his jokes and delight in his little misadventures. Perhaps... perhaps it would be different this time. This time they will be brothers, without the messy entanglements brought on by love and sex. 

_And sometimes brothers need a good thrashing_ , thought Woden with fondness. 

Something darted between the trees and Woden stopped, peering through the branches. A brown slip of a girl stepped out from behind a tree, naked and smiling. Neither goddess nor jötun, but a mortal and not one of his. She did not belong to the Southern gods, or their Western mirrors, but someone new. The girl held up an apple, blood red instead of golden, and a snake slithered between her feet. "Have a bite," she said. "This apple is special." 

"Why is that?" 

"It contains the knowledge of good and evil." 

Woden could never resist the allure of more knowledge. 

When Loki returned with Iduna in tow, safe and sound despite the trick the jötun had played on her, Woden thought he came back different. He seemed changed. No longer did his legs sprout from the earth as though he was a part of it, no more did he seem to be nature made flesh. His smiles grew sinister, his teeth sharper. Or perhaps it was Woden that had changed. His values. Why had he spent so much time worrying about Order and Nature? This was a battle between Good and Evil. 

Like a viper held close to the breast, Loki eventually struck. Baldr, his bright and golden son, was gone. Loki -- the devil, the betrayer, the evil one -- had murdered him. Justice had been swift. The gods had cast him underground, chained him to a rock using rope made from the entrails of Loki's own son, fastened a snake above his head and the steady drip, drip, drip of poison fell onto his eyes until they burned away, leaving only hollowed gaps in their place. 

When Loki writhed with pain, the earth shook beneath Woden's feet. It stirred in his mind long-forgotten memories of forests and the wild things that lived there.

And this time, and this time, Surtr came in the form of a mushroom cloud, man-made instead of nature-wrought and full of evil. 

* * *

"And that, my friend, is why you should never let a Christian tell your story," King Laius said conspiratorially as he met Woden in the Elysian Fields. "With them, someone must always play the role of Satan." 

"It will be different this time," Woden insisted. "I will raise Loki from the cradle. Teach him how to be good. I am sure that will make all the difference." 

King Laius groaned and covered his face with his hands. "My gods! Do not do that! He will turn out worse than my boy Oedipus!"

* * *

"There now," Odin said as he helped Thor stack his blocks. "A tower!" 

Little Loki could never stand not being the center of attention. He toddled over and with a mischievous grin, knocked over Odin's creation and sent the blocks spilling across the floor. "Loki!" Thor shrieked as he chased his brother through the palace, the both of them screaming with laughter. 

It would be different this time. A new people had come to tell his story. Odin will get the ending he wants, something that will last.


End file.
